The Cecil Whig., 1887-12-17
A GOOD STORY
The First Christmas Tree IN Saw England
"A Tale ot the Pr"Itan- and Their
Times.

vember afternoon Mrs. Rachel Olrott
was spinning fix in the cheerful kitchen
OF a small house not fsr hJln Plymouth
Rock, in Massachusetts. Eastward
from the house, the ocean broke with a
sullen roar on the rocks of the coast Ne
low northward lay the few homes Of
the few Pilgrims who we're Ms. O CoIi's
ntIghbors.
Captain O}cott' ship mad sailed from
Boston for England. in the year 1852,
aud had not been heard from.
The little band Of Pilgrims has ceased
to look for news from the captain OF his
ship.
Mrs. Olcott kept up a brave heart
and a cheerful face for the sake of hcl
four children, Robert, Rupert, Lucy
and poor crippled little Roger but this
November afternoon anxiety filled hel
heart. Day by day her little store Of
provisions had lessened under the
stres, Of hunger until even the corn
meal had vanished, and it became nee
essary to send corn to be ground at the
only mill in all that region. Early in
the day, Robert and Rupert with theiI
sister Lucy had been sent to the mller's
for it was well understood that each
conner must await his turn at the mill.
This grinding in those early days was
slow work, and much of the day had
passed before Mrs. Olcott expected
them to return. But when the sky
grew lark and the snow began to fail
the loving mother grew anxious. She
drew the great armchair, in the Cush
ioned depths of which poor, pale faced
little Roger lay curled, far INTO the fire
place and then, when anxiety grew to
fear, she threw over her head the hooded
red CLOAK that all the Puritan matrons
wore, and hurried over the hill, as last
a, the drifting snow would permit, to
the house OF her nearest ncighbor,
Master John Hawley.
AS she drew the latch and walked in
with impetuous haste, up sprung John
Ha~ley and stalked to the corner,
where, ever ready, stood his ,rusty
musket.
Tndians, RachcI?" shriekcd Mrs.
Hawley, sprnging to drop the curtain
that hung above the one window Of the
room.
put up your musket, friend, gasped
Mrs. Olcott. at Is my boys who are
in danger. They went to the mill with
grist. Lucy is with them. On, save
them ~ she pleaded.
"They're young and tough they'll!
weather it through, and be home by
supper time" SAID John Hawlcy, the
stanch Puritan, dropping his musket to
after its corner. "I'n step over supper
and see. Go home, and don't worry"
TO him, nothing less than Indians
seemed worth a moments unea5iness.
When he turned, Rachel Oicott was
gone, and his wife was at the door,
watching the red cloak as its wearer
urged il through the snow.
"a woman has no business to look as
she does" exclaimed Mrs. HavIey,
closing the door.
"She's had trouble enough in Ply
mouth, goodness knows her husband
lost, and that crippled child to care for
night and day, those boys who bring up,
and hardly enough money to keep soul
and body together, and there she goes
this minute with a face like a sweet
bricr rose > and John Hawlcy demand
ed hi, supper al once.
He had it, MS wife locke as stern as
any Puritan Of them all, as he put GA
his greatcoat and went out, saying:
"Irtho.e youngsters have come home.
III be right back
But ne wa. not fright back" Mid
night came down on the Atlantic coast,
and he had not returned.
The supper for the young Olcotts
was baked at the hearth, and set back
to await their coming. the blazing logs
filled the long, low kitchen with light
There was no need of candle, as the
mother sat, to sing her poor boy to
sleep. But Roger could not sleep.
Tell me something more about
England, Mother" he pleaded, again
and again. at keeps me from think
ing of Lucy and the boys, when you
talk"
The freight illuminated the white
face and made the blue eye, of the boy
more pitiful than ever in their pIainuve
asking that night.
The mothers thoughts and her heart
were out in the snowdrifts searching
with her neighbors for her bright, rosy
darlings, but her words and her hands
were ministering to this child, bercft of
almost everything belonging to the out
side world Of work and endeavor.
"Well, then, Roger, shut your eyes
and try to go to sleep, while | tell you
something about Christmas-the way
we used to keep it-before Mamma
was a Puritan, you know"
Then she told the boy of old time
customs in her native land of her
fathers house, and the great reioicings
that came at Christmas time and lastly.
with vague feeling of regret in her
heart, she came to the story of the great
green bough that was lighted with tapers
and hung with gifts for the good
children.
"What made YOU be a Puritan,
Mother2 Why didn't you stay at home, y